


Bury Your Sons Rewrite

by Romiress



Series: MTBAF Side Stories [2]
Category: Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Batman: Arkham Knight Genesis (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Batman: Arkham (Video Games) Setting, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brief mentions of Canon Typical Torture, Gen, Mental Health Issues, POV Slade Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22262407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romiress/pseuds/Romiress
Summary: A rewrite of the first chapter ofBury Your Sons, intended to let myself compare the differences in my writing styles after six months of nonstop writing.
Relationships: Slade Wilson & Jason Todd
Series: MTBAF Side Stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602526
Comments: 5
Kudos: 63





	Bury Your Sons Rewrite

Slade doesn't have a conscience. He doesn't get guilty or upset. There are a lot of hired killers out there who try and act like they have _principles,_ as if having some makes them better than the others in their trade. They act as if an assassin who refuses to kill anyone under the age of eighteen is somehow _not_ morally bankrupt like the rest of them.

Slade knows better. He knows morals aren't lines: they're price tags. The only difference between him and those who claim to have principles is that he's up front about his costs.

Which is why it bothers him so much when he starts to feel an itch he can't scratch. A feeling he can't push away.

It's the Knight. It's listening to him flail and cry in the night as he sleeps, lost in a nightmare he can't wake up from. It's the way he flinches any time Slade touches him, as if correcting his shooting posture is the same as being slapped in the face.

For some reason, the worst is the way he eats. The Knight eats like every piece of food he has is at risk of being taken away from him. He wolfs his food down, eating it so fast (when he lets Slade see him eat, anyway) that he chokes on it in his desperation to get it down.

They're small details. They're things that absolutely shouldn't matter. What does he care if the Knight has issues? He's not a bleeding heart like some in the business. He's not doing the job for _the right reasons._ He's doing it for cash, and he tells himself that over and over as the feeling gets worse and worse.

What decides it for him is when the Knight has to miss a training session because he hasn't slept in three days. That makes it different: that means Slade can tell himself that it _isn't_ because he cares. He's looking into things because it's _a contract._

The contract has to be completed. Slade's reputation—that he's never failed a contract—matters more to him than almost anything else. Maybe it _does_ matter more than anything else; he's no longer sure anymore.

Really, there's two contracts. There's the one from the kid himself, the one paid in several million dollars of stolen Wayne Enterprises money, and the one from the Clown, paid in money whose original source Slade doesn't want to give any sort of thought to.

The Clown's instructions were very clear: help the kid with his revenge. The Clown had stressed, over and over, that even if he wanted the Bat dead he didn't want it to be by Slade's hand.

The kid's instructions were far less so. With the money the kid was throwing around, it was just _you work for me_ and Slade had said _good enough_ and gotten on with doing what he'd wanted. Helping form the militia. Helping train them. Making sure they were properly outfitted. If there was ever anything that could really be said to be the end goal, it was _help me get my revenge,_ even if the Knight never said it in those terms.

When he thinks of it like that, it makes his options clear: there's nothing in either contract that prevents him from looking into things. From getting to the bottom of what the hell the kid's deal is.

That's just who he is: plans within plans within plans, playing every angle imaginable.

And whether the kid will ever admit it or not, he's running full speed towards something that's going to destroy him. He's setting himself on fire for a chance to burn someone who hurt him, and it frustrates Slade that he doesn't know why.

It's not that he thinks the kid's single-mindedness is going to make them lose. Between the two of them, the militia, and all the gear? Slade knows they'll win. They'll put the Bat down for good and take Gotham for themselves.

It's what comes after.

He's been working for the Knight for more than two years. He's antsy for a new job, new contracts. New scenery. New _anything._ He has plans for when the contract's done and the knight no longer needs him.

And the Knight, Slade realizes, doesn't. The Knight never talks about what's coming after. He's never said the words _once the Bat is dead._ The Knight's smart, nearly as smart as Slade himself, and yet for all his plans Slade's never heard him mention any plans for _after._ Everything is about destroying the Bat. The closest he's gotten to talking about it was when one of the militia commanders went on a tangent about Gotham after the bat fell, and the Knight made an offhand comment about the city needing a new protector.

But not him. Never him.

Once upon a time, Slade thought that _was_ the plan. That they were going to kill the Bat, and that the Arkham Knight was going to take his place as Gotham's beloved hero. But the closer they get to the plan going into action, the more clear it becomes that isn't the plan. There's no extra gear saved for after they kill the Bat. There's no equipment caches being set up for afterwards. There's nothing being kept in reserve.

It shouldn't bother Slade. Once the Bat's in the ground, he's free. The contract's over, and he'll probably never see the kid again.

But it does bother him.

When the Knight leaves to go do who the hell knows what, leaving their base without a word, Slade kicks up his feet and lets himself drink. It's a night off, technically, but he can't risk the Bat (or any of his many, many associates) realizing that Deathstroke's in town. So that means no social visits. No extra jobs. No leaving the base without a good reason.

He's bored, and he tells himself _that's_ why he starts looking for info and no other reason.

The kid's identity isn't as hard to find as it would be for someone else. He already knows where he was held (down below Arkham) and who he was connected to (the Clown and the Bat). A civilian might not have been able to make the connection, but Deathstroke's worked for half the criminals in Gotham, and he's heard every rumor there is.

Which means the kid is the second Robin. The one who went missing and got replaced a few months later. The rumor was that he washed out, but with what Slade knows he's pretty sure that isn't true. Even if the Clown never said he was the second Robin, he was a black haired kid who's age lines up just right to be the missing second Robin. It explains the changes in the Bat's behavior around that time too: explains why he seemed to be so intense.

But knowing that doesn't really explain things. It's just a tiny piece of a much larger puzzle. The Arkham Knight is the second Robin, and for at least a while he was with the Joker. So Slade sets his drink aside and tries again. Really _thinks_ about the situation. About how he met the kid. About what the Joker had said. What's he missing?

But it isn't the Joker that finally lets him make the connection; it's the kid himself. He's paying Slade with a massive amount of money stolen from Bruce Wayne, but how he managed to get into Bruce Wayne's accounts wasn't a detail he'd ever shared with Slade. Slade can't imagine there are more than a half dozen people in the world who could rob Wayne blind like that, so he takes a bit of time to look into it.

And once he has _that,_ it's laughably easy to find the answer. Less than ten minutes later he's looking at a picture of _Jason Todd,_ adopted son of Bruce Wayne. Deceased. A bit more digging shows a peculiarity: missing person's report filed six months before his death. No official trail after that. No body. And then, all of a sudden, _dead._

Obviously not.

There's no question in Slade's mind that the Arkham Knight is Jason Todd. Even if the file photo is old and outdated, there are plenty of similarities.

The Knight comes back from whatever he was doing, paying Slade no mind. He doesn't attempt to look at Slade's computer, or investigate what he's doing. Instead, he walks right past him, ignoring Slade completely as he vanishes into the part of the building he's claimed as his personal quarters.

This is why Slade _hates_ sharing a space with someone. He hates being interrupted, and while he's confident that he's not breaking his contract looking into it, he's also just as confident that the kid would be furious with him for doing so.

So he waits a few minutes to make sure the kid isn't coming back out of his room before he goes back to his search.

Jason Todd. There's no explanation for why he's marked as dead, just the fact that he is. He's dead, and the police know it. Someone just calling it in shouldn't be enough, which means there has to be some kind of evidence that let the boys in blue over in Gotham City decide to mark him as dead. The files he have access to don't show anything, which means he's going to have to do some on-site digging.

He knocks once at the door to the Knight's room before he goes. It's one of the more spacious of his bolt holes, which means the Knight probably can't even hear the knock, but Slade tries anyway.

He's surprised when the door creaks open, and the dark blue of a helmet greets him.

"What?" The kid says, his voice garbled by the modulator in his helmet.

Slade hates the helmet, and after a moment of reflection, it occurs to him that he's seen the kid wearing it a _lot_ lately. He used to take it off when they were in private, but now even when he's on his own in his room he seems to be wearing it. He used to wear clothes, too, but now he wears nothing but the baggy hoodies and sweatpants that can fit over his armor. It makes him look bulky and makes him slow, and the whole thing is ridiculous.

Slade tries to think of when it started and decides that it must have been a few months ago. Back when Arkham City was a thing.

The whole thing feels like some sort of fucked up security blanket: wear the helmet, and no one can see the brand on his face. Wear the suit, and no one can see the scars.

"What?" The Knight repeats, and Slade's sure that if he could see the kid's teeth, he'd be baring his teeth.

"I'm going into the city," Slade says, gesturing over his shoulder. "Don't wait up."

The Knight doesn't answer, closing the door in his face, and Slade wonders why the hell he's even bothering.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to read the rest and haven't already, consider hopping over to [chapter two](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18933439/chapters/44955262#workskin)!


End file.
